A track from an old album of mine…
Letter
•June 11, 2011 • 2 CommentsA pile of bits, masquerading as letters
5it in a dusty digital corner
Some Ps, some Ts, Rs and Es
Waiting to be rearranged
Reassigned into something new
Yesterdays news
Some Os and Fs, the letter C
A précis, a thesis, hearsay
An alternative view
My next tattoo
Or Ds and Xs
Love you too
But what D needs now is a radio
A puppet show, a tracking device
Scraping all my little datas
Into a nice ticking packet bomb that
I can download and take home
With a Q or two, N, Ms, 3 Vs
A dictionary, give me
A moment to collect my thoughts
Like a wiki, W, V, lotss of Sss
And a J!
Ok, ok
We’re on our w-A.
June 2011 Derek Wilson
Enemy
•March 16, 2011 • Leave a CommentThe darkness in me
Has a tendency
To resist the light
When all I have to do
Is embrace it
It seems all I can do
Is fight
March 2011 Derek Wilson
Project 2010 – A photo a day, a poem a week
•January 1, 2011 • 2 CommentsProject 2010 – A photo a day, a poem a week. So there it is, 365 photos, 52 poems, one year in one life.
The end of this month brings to the end two projects I started at the beginning of the year, simply, a photo a day and a poem a week. In embarking on a Project 365, I was attempting to learn more about photography and visual art, and challenge myself to think about creation every day. It certainly did that and more. I am far from a deep of understanding the craft and the techniques of photography as compared to one who has formally studied. Yet some friends have assisted in wonderful informal lessons, often involving a pub, a few drinks and bar full of subjects. I haven’t been using an SLR/DSLR and all that entails (yet?), having tended to focus on the idea or concept.
This year has seen a massive shift in the way photos are taken, processed and shared. In January, the phone app phenomenon was only just taking off. Hipstamatic, for example was released a few weeks before I started the project. I began using it in May. Since then many other apps have appeared that emulate many of the techniques of traditional photography and also attempt to integrate how we are now socializing into the process. Instagram is a good example of that.
But we are at the tip of the iceberg of how photography may develop in the coming years. The phone applications are bringing the elements of camera, film, the darkroom, along with digital processing, retouching and effects all together in a very simple way. I keep looking at the photos I take with my “better” camera and, while it’s by no means high-end, I see that the quality far surpasses the phone photos. Yet, something about the lower-fi photos also rings true. While they may not be a true representation of what was there, they seem to capture how I “think” it looked – they capture the magic, the moment – how we choose to see things…
Then there’s the writing project – talk about capturing only what you choose to see… I’ve gone from paper and pen to finger and screen, and back again, and back again… Each week had been a battle, a war, a chore, a reward. Every day I’ve felt like a failure, at some point, so far from my stupidly lofty ideals. Why did I start these projects? And who even cares at all if I don’t carry them through? No one but me. And so every week I’ve also felt like, not a winner, but a contender. Pulsing, punching, preaching and praying my way through the year. I aimed to develop my writing in new ways and get out of the stagnant lull I had been in. To force deadlines with public publishing so as to stop being precious about pieces.
I also had to learn no to be so precious about the process. The December photos are an example where I handed over the camera to friends for a few shots – because it completely broke my own rules.
Both these projects have taught me a lot about who I am, what I am trying to do, and how to do it. They’ve also probably opened more questions than they answered, but the impetus I started the year with has not only lasted the year, but propelled me into the new year with new ideas and directions.
I will continue adding words and pictures to these pages this year, albeit to a different timeframe. Thanks for looking. Here’s to 2011!
Delboy
Air On The Side Of Grace
•December 31, 2010 • Leave a CommentHe divorced his wife, he created a new life
He jumped out the window and got picked up by the sky
He heard a sad piano being played softly in the next room
It seemed to be piece about afternoons and Augusts after Junes
So he ran out into the snow, cinematically, slow motion style
Across the country, through the woods, Six Million Dollar Man like
Taking giant, sky-assisted, skipping, seven-league steps
How do you leave? (He asked) But how do you leave?
How do you give up all that you believed?
And then his brain ran dry and he ran out of words to say
And his eyes stopped up, so there were no more tears
And the spirit left him with no more ways to pray
And if he did have any, anyway
There were no more people and no more ears
Yet all around him we were sprouting wings
Flapping and flailing and misbehaving
Looking like something in-between
A gorilla in the swim and an angel felled by sin
If only he’d knew now what we know then
The penance, the price, salvation, the Zen
We err on the side of humanity, frailty and fragility
A basic lack of comprehension of what the fuck’s going on
And a general confusion over what goes wrong
So he buttons his coat and settles his debts
Takes a long hard look and a deep, deep breath
And another step and another step
December 2010 Derek Wilson
Creature, Crawling Through The Night
•December 29, 2010 • Leave a CommentCreature, crawling through the night
Hunting, hurting, wounded beast
That carves survival, warm and sweet
From stone and tile and bitumen
Crawling through the haunted night
Crawling through the dimming light
Hiding within shadows, clinging
Hugging built, erected monoliths
Of awesome, soaring height
Crying in the bitter darkness
Wailing, flailing, licking wounds
Sniffing out a chosen prey
Running diabolically
Till waning moon and breaking day
Crawling through the haunted night
Crawling through the seething blight
Slaying fast while praying
For an absolution, Agnus Dei
Lying, all the while beguiling
Drawing unsuspecting victims
Crawling through their precious plight
Crawling through the haunted night
December 2010 Derek Wilson
A Darkening On The Narrows
•December 27, 2010 • Leave a CommentWe speak in whispers, hint and gesture in subtle, subtle tones
We row a boat across the narrows, bury secrets in dirt & ditches
Toss our soiled tools in the shallows and scamper off
Though the shadows, alone, alone
We scratch our skin with complicated stitches and patterns
Fascinating lattice laces, tracing backscatter on
Underexposed fragments of film, drinking dry pilsners
While the flashes explode, unloaded
We dress with fancy, fantastic splashes of whimsy and warmth
Enwrapped in wonder and cloth that rinses easily
Tubes that slide off slowly and layers that forgive
And forget, lie forgotten, but so close
We watch and wish through tingling ice drops and wild wind drifts
Bodies mingling, children’s tears ringing in our ears
And fears forgotten, no more, no more memories
We sink into these waters, cold and deep
December 2010 Derek Wilson
Litany #13270
•December 16, 2010 • Leave a CommentI type like a hacker
I hack like a rapper
I rap like a slacker
I dance like a fool
I punch like a preacher
I preach like a dancer
I dance like a teacher
I rhyme like a rule
I drink like a fighter
I fight like a lover
I love like a writer
I pray like a rhyme
I play like a loser
I lose like a prayer
I pray like a boozer
I rhyme like a mime
December 2010 Derek Wilson
Hurricane
•December 15, 2010 • Leave a CommentI was sinking down somewhere
On the Rue Chartres
Trying to catch a place
To find my breath
You know, enlightenment & peace
And those kinds of things you find
In barrels of beer and devastating
Acts of God with ladies’ names
Check in, check in again
No friends are near
Outside it’s the storm and the rain
And the racket and the rage
And no amount of barricades
Are going to stop the USA from getting in here
December 2010 Derek Wilson
Denialand
•December 6, 2010 • Leave a CommentI watch TV in bars
I know some TV stars
I eat from salad bars
I watch some TV stars
Everybody’s either talking or eating
Talking, eating, spewing or drinking
Coffee, noodles, the latest googles
GMO via HBO
BMI of 43
Follow me, (don’t) follow me
We can’t connect the satellites
And the street lights
Have all gone out
Wanna know a secret?
Come with me
November 2010 Derek Wilson
No Moon/or/Moon Is Full/or/Clouds Become The Moon
•November 27, 2010 • Leave a CommentSitting here
You’d think I was sitting here forever – like
A sage, a saviour, in a Buddha/Christ pose
With rings on my fingers and sand between my toes
Because it’s summer
But summer can’t last forever and when it ends
That winter will wind and its shrill wind will blow
And I, like the sands, not structure, nor permanent
Play off the pretty colours
Making finger paintings in the firmament
Making painted scratches on this parchment
Dusty brush stroke hashes that clumsily pick up
The glancing light, the hidden bright flashes
That bounce around and off and through
The things that end and eternity
The no more, no more
And the things that continue
And finally, I look at you, posturing between reds or blues
Arms outstretched like you’re delivering The Good News
Too good to be true, a fancy fool and gone too soon
And all that’s left now, are the clouds and the moon
November 2010 Derek Wilson
Slipping Beneath A Velvet Rope
•November 23, 2010 • Leave a CommentThese are the days foretold
The days before we all get saved
And we are travelling down the old roads
The roads that the highways have now made obsolete
Singing those songs that will soon be forgotten
The dirges of the days foretold
We all get older and cannot help it
It is our burden and our right
But not like this
This is not how we imagined it
We always pictured something more noble
With deeds and gestures and myths
A battle, a journey or a fight
But like a God-given prophecy
We unfold with consistency
Boring our slow tunnels through the earth
Searching for the warm core
That seems, always, down one more foot
Around one more corner
Below one more stone
Worms. Moles. Blind diggers, all
These are not the days foretold!
This is a disaster!
Emergency!
Ring the bells, sound the alarm!
We are impostors, preposterous and exposed
Overfed and overdosed
Fat slugs trailing toxic slime
But it’s our time, it’s our time, it’s our time!
Please don’t turn the lights up
Please don’t turn the volume down
We whimper like prophets
Bleeding the inevitable from all-seeing eyes
As the bouncers kick our asses
From our own unfortunate lives
November 2010 Derek Wilson
Talking Like A Man On A Telephone On A Plane As It Is Crashing To The Ground
•November 17, 2010 • Leave a CommentOr we could talk about other things, you know, if you want, I mean, we don’t have to talk about this now
We could change the subject, like, just chat about stuff, ok? Lighthearted stuff.
How your day went and, and how are the kids doing? Or,
Or there was this movie I just saw, it was really good, it was about this guy who got on a plane and
What’s that?
IT WAS ABOUT THIS GUY WHO GOT ON A PLANE AND
WHAT?
Oh, sorry, sorry
I know, It’s hard for me too
You know, I want to say, um, oh? Yes, yes, ok, of course, I will
But I
Yes, you’re right, of course, I’m not sure what I was thinking but
Oh sure, later, when I’m home, yes
I just think we should, well I, no I just think I should say
I, sorry? Another …? No, don’t go, I
(Oh)
(Oh no)
November 2010 Derek Wilson
Snap
•November 2, 2010 • Leave a CommentSuddenly, I couldn’t take it
It was possibly the smoke
And the girl screaming “Lesbians!”
And the smell of sex, shampoo and perfume
Amongst the mess of male bravado
Young men huh? Boys, huh
Can everybody hear this song?
Can everybody sing along?
While I worry about getting older
Worry when they play Cake on the radio
And dance like a drunken soldier
These people, they all know each other
That’s the advantage they have, I suppose
Their homes are in close proximity
They share a strained familiarity
And therefore, and unfortunately
A common future
October 2010 Derek Wilson
Writers Bloc
•October 22, 2010 • Leave a CommentWe are striving to be writers
Battling with the fear
That our greatest masterpieces
May have already been completed
Something like
Writing the letter d
In crayon, in kindy
October 2010 Derek Wilson
Heartbeat
•October 17, 2010 • Leave a CommentSometimes it seems my clothes still wear you
Sometimes I dream my bed still shares you
Sometimes I feel much smaller than I am
Like I could comfortably fit in the palm of your hand
Sometimes my heart beats irregularly, skips
And sometimes I’m acutely aware of this
And long ignored advice that I should get that checked
And unopened referrals and random diagnoses
Exacerbated I’m sure, by addictions, insatiable
And I wonder how, in my thirties
I’ve come to believe I’m invincible
My heart skips again
This time for reasons not physical
And I’m small again
Curled in a ball again
Resting, at 90bpm
Climb the walls then
Watch the room spin
See the colours dim
Close my eyes and know
I haven’t died, again
October 2010 Derek Wilson
(slow music)
•October 9, 2010 • Leave a Comment(slow music)
(smoke machines hissing)
(wolf whistle)
(laughter)
(music changes, slower, pulsing)
(someone coughing in the audience)
(people whispering nearby)
(shoes squeaking)
(music reaches crescendo)
(audience is silent)
(cheering and applause)
October 2010 Derek Wilson
Beautility
•October 6, 2010 • 2 CommentsLet me be the angel
Let me bear the wing
Take me in and let me sin
Make tea while I unravel
A gypsy on the travel
Trying to find a beat and a rhyme
And shine a light within
Let me drive the nails
Let me drain the man
Wipe me clean then let me bleed
Pay penance for all these deeds
That satisfy all my needs
Then bring out the golden fatted calf
It’s time for me to feed
Let me be the author
Let me twist the plot
Write me up and spin me some
We’ll dervish through this bright night
Spilling sins like a hell-sprite
Singing hymns of grace and redemption
A gypsy on the run
Let me walk on water
Let me scam the swim
Fill my sails with aims and airs
Steady as she goes, matey
We, resurrected lately
Shall gypsy till our redeemer comes
An angel, false or fair
October 2010 Derek Wilson
Not To Be Used As
•September 25, 2010 • Leave a CommentSee, I am not here
I am froZen, suspended
A pea in a packet
A spaceman in an escape pod
I am not breathing, much
Be my life support
Arrest me, terrestrial me
I got my hands up
And I’ll be dangling on that rope
Swinging, sink or swimming
Drowning in a sea of hope
See, I am not surfacing
Be my floatation device
September 2010 Derek Wilson
Oh Rejection
•September 19, 2010 • Leave a CommentLet it rain a thousand storms down
Let it drench these Northern places
Let it bleed out over the doorways
Let it dampen the very light of day
Let it rain a thousand storms down
It shall burn with the passion of the sun
It shall rage until all is overcome
It shall scorch even the soaken sky
It shall not douse until kingdom come
It shall burn with the passion of the sun
Let it ripple and rattle and shake
Let it break your dry, brittle bones
Let it shatter every unturned stone
Let it turn the world upside down
Let it ripple and rattle and shake
It shall be disease and infection
It shall be stroke, aneurysm, heart attack
It shall be not the resurrection
It shall be plague and swift and black
It shall be disease and infection
Let it rain a thousand storms down
Let it pour and flood this town
Let it drive us all underground
Let it know it has won this round
Let it rain a thousand storms down
September 2010 Derek Wilson
Graverobbers
•September 15, 2010 • Leave a Commentn8k99 sometimes write songs incorporating words I’ve written.
Here is one of them:
http://nacreo.us/2010/07/22/graverobber/
Have a listen and enjoy!
August
•September 11, 2010 • 2 Comments
August
This time, first obtain a soul with longing
Opening a place of old immortality
That lately I was waiting for
Look both ways hombre
Do no changing
No diversion
Beware of economic security and
Flashback caution safety
History is natural
And your savage tracks, a system
Dress up and dance
Love music because
I got seats to the same slow stage
For the painted poet blows grit to all
The way was made easily
No warning in use
No exit avenue
No desperate lamentation
We see only love
Do not stop
Roar up the chain
Be something superb
Original
I am the target
Super slide in, to life
September 2010 Derek Wilson
You can see the individual photos here: http://gallery.me.com/delboywilson#gallery
Housefire
•September 9, 2010 • Leave a CommentMy heart is a fire front
It takes my centre stage
It bears the wrath
It breeds the rage
It tears these words
Right from the page
My head is a behemoth
It is a roaring bear
It stands alone
It fights alone
It fells the woods
And fouls the air
My hands are a dancer
And sometimes an actor
Sometime slacker
Often hacker
A fucking clown
With X-Factor
And then, I am façade
A miracle of wit
That face the wind
That grace the wall
And likes to climb
But climbs to fall
September 2010 Derek Wilson
Firehouse
•September 2, 2010 • Leave a CommentIt looks like rain
It’s getting dark
Do you know Dave Grohl
From the Foo Fighters?
Do you know Thuma Urman?
Here look, that’s Dave Grohl
He fucked my friend
She’s a ballerina
But she’s beautiful
She spoke
I guess
And then I said nothing
You couldn’t say
Without words
August 2010 Derek Wilson
Mist
•August 21, 2010 • Leave a CommentThis stargazing evening
Has wrapped itself in a
Blanket of cloud and
Turned inwards to
Candlelight and slow drinking
I can smell green tea
Steaming in a ceramic bowl
And wonder what she is sensing now
In two nights she will
Kiss me for the first time
But tonight, I’ll just miss her
And wonder if I’ll ever be able
To return to this moment
August 2010 Derek Wilson
Thought Pattern
•August 16, 2010 • Leave a Comment I thought that you could stretch me about a thousand miles wide
I thought that you could test me through a myriad of trials
I thought that you could burn me in a multitude of fires
I thought that you could raze me and not I, I will survive
I thought that you could lure me with insatiable desire
I thought that you could dress me in astonishing attire
I thought that you could tempt me with uninhibited wiles
I thought that you could trust me through a million or so lies
I thought that you could five to one me, baby, one in five
I thought that you could help me to get out of here alive
I thought that you could seek me when I ran away to hide
I thought that you could throw me with the Christians to the lions
I thought that you could punch me in the face until I cried
I thought that you could walk on water, dancing with the tide
I thought that you could know me just by looking in my eyes
I thought that you could calm me down when anxious I arise
I thought that you could paint my name with stardust in the skies
I thought that you could reincarnate me a hundred lives
I thought that you could trap me with intelligent designs
I thought that you could cast a spell on me with ancient rhymes
I thought that you could lash me to the mast when sirens cry
I thought that you could maybe take me to the other side
I thought that you could rise again when others only die
I thought that you could save me, I thought at least, you’d try
August 2010 Derek Wilson
Sherlock Holmes
•August 9, 2010 • 2 CommentsEven then, while we were walking
Discussing the weather and things
And such and “oh, did you know?”
And “do you suppose?”
No, no, I nod, but don’t show
I want to be homeless
I want to sneak out of this
Pedestrian conversation
And just, this, in general
Dirtied up and down dressed
Disheveled and distressed
There’s a TV crashing through
A window, but really
It’s identity, infinity, illusion
So the detective must ask questions
Of the gathered, around the body
“Did you know the deceased?”
I looked down, he was virtually
Unrecognisable now, a mess on the
Footpath to be swept away
I looked back up
Did I know the deceased?
Man, you are talking to him
August 2010 Derek Wilson
The World Turned Upside Down
•July 29, 2010 • 1 CommentOne day the world turned upside down
And then it started raining
We sang old songs as the sun
Submerged, sizzling like a cigarette
Extinguished in glass of wine. The end.
July 2010 Derek Wilson
I’ve Thought
•July 22, 2010 • Leave a CommentI’ve thought
Short
I’ve thought long
I think I love crying
Feeling, wrong
As to melody
A song
This pain and I
Belong
July 2010 Derek Wilson
On Parameters
•July 20, 2010 • Leave a CommentI’m observing that there are some questions and answers I’m experiencing from both my daily photo project and weekly poem project.
I post the photos daily to my blog but monthly on facebook. Why monthly? I guess it’s neat, an easy, organised system that is also pretty easy for friends and family to take in. Substantial yet not too much at one time. I wonder what that says about me. So I observe. I do like a level of structure, organisation, placement etc… I like to know where things are and what’s coming up. Yet I also love to jam, improvise, be spontaneous, get messy.
This has led me to thinking about parameters in art. Particularly self-imposed parameters. A large driving force behind my projects this year was some words of artist Chuck Close discussing the ideas behind working at your art all the time regardless of whether you feel inspired or not. How it forces you to make choices, throw things out, head in different directions. I imposed these large parameters on myself to see where it would take things and get away from the idea that art is like an outside force waiting to strike you, but rather that it’s inside all the time and working at it all the time changes one from an artist hoping a good idea will appear to an artist coming up with ideas constantly. Sure some of those ideas are terrible, but the amount of good ideas that result from this intensity of work far outweighs the amount of good ideas that just ‘struck’.
Suddenly the parameters have a dramatic impact on the work. Where I was writing the odd poem here or there, sometimes going months without writing a thing, now I write something every week. The added parameter of publishing online means that that something is ‘finished’ too. I can always go back and reuse or reinterpret those words again if I feel like it, but there’s also a sense of moving on to the next one.
Then I’m observing the effect of parameters within each project. I started the photo project with only the aim of taking an ‘interesting’ photo every day with my compact Fujifilm F70 digital camera. For the first four months I just snapped away and worked on observing ordinary things and situations for interesting angles. The in May I made some software and hardware additions to my iPhone and decided I would only use them for that month. This caused a completely different look to the month when compared to a previous month, so for the next month I decided to use either camera but had loose theme of ‘walls and surfaces and what ideas get projected upon them’. I found it pretty hard some days and got to the end of the month thinking I needed to loosen the parameters again.
That’s where this whole thing is really starting to get interesting for me, where questions are being raised – in taking all the inner parameters back off, I’m feeling directionless (with the photos) this month. I’ve already come up with a theme for next month and am looking forward to exploring it. (Why must I be doing this in months? – another of the questions I need to explore…)
Back in the land of words, this month I rediscovered a very similar technique of placing a theme of sorts on a series of poems. This quite naturally fell to a month as I wrote a poem with the title ‘I’ll Sing’ and decided to write the next few poems starting with the title, each title starting with another I’ contraction. As there are only four in common use it all turned out quite neatly and in tune with what I’ve been thinking about the photos. I’ve used this title idea before, where each title was one word and ended in ‘cast’ – Outcast, Forecast, Broadcast etc… and constructed the piece from there.
I am reminded this month to think on the parameters I am setting and work on creating new and varied ones to open up different directions.
July 2010 Derek Wilson
I’d Leave
•July 16, 2010 • Leave a CommentI’d leave
As in, leave about then
While you were playing
Fuzz guitar and him, fuzzy bass
And people were about, coming
In and out, in and out
And I was all over the place
Leaving this place, but
If I ever had a trace to leave
I hope I left one here
And while there wasn’t even time
To look behind or spill a tear
I hope you know, how dear
How dear
July 2010 Derek Wilson
I’m Ugly
•July 9, 2010 • 2 CommentsAnd you’re uncouth
And he’s uneducated
And they’re unbelievable
And she’s underwhelming
And I’m up myself
And none of us know the truth
And all of us tell lies
All of us tell lies
All of the time
Especially me
July 2010 Derek Wilson
I’ll Sing
•July 6, 2010 • 1 CommentI’ll sing, you hit record
You’ll see what I’m thinking
Just make sure you hit
The red button
July 2010 Derek Wilson
Usurper
•June 28, 2010 • Leave a CommentOur mother was known as the man in the moon
She went down in flames one night when the sun rose too soon
She was always overly dramatic with her antics and hysterics
We watched her drink the Indian Ocean and left her to the paramedics
Now we’re waiting for you to get into position and reproduce our popular opinions
Carve up onions, potatoes and meats and leave what’s left for the beggars to eat
And leave what’s right for the beggars to fight over
Quick, someone’s coming, kiss me like a lover and leave me too in this alley by the dumpster
Rise up, rise up, take your place in the stars
Rise up, new mother, dear mother of ours
June 2010 Derek Wilson
Song Of Purchase II
•June 23, 2010 • Leave a CommentA man once bought a heater
It cost him 37 dollars 89
He took it home and plugged it in
It seemed to work just fine
It had two different heat settings
And another one that said cool
Which made him wonder if it was a heater
Or perhaps a multi-weather tool
There were two different fan speeds
And when he turned it on
It made a pleasant kind of whir
Like a cat’s purr, a gentle hum
He flipped through the instructions
Without really reading a word
Noting the Chinese and German
And a language of which he was unsure
Then, stretching out in its warmth
Submitting to its seductive tread
He nodded still to a slumber
And never again did raise his head
June 2010 Derek Wilson
Spametry
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June 2010 Derek Wilson
actually-
•June 4, 2010 • Leave a Commenthow r u?
here now it’s 2:36am
it’s… too late to msg…
i’m feeling no good…
so just thinking of u…
and i am thinking of u, sometimes
i am so tired
so tired… in my life
i dont want to talk about my feelings
so I can’t msg u…
pain in my head
just enough
i dont know my thinking myself…
everthing
just my thinking is enough
everyone is sad
do u know/?
i am not sad
but everyone sad
i am just watching
and just-
i dont want to talk something
i just want to hold the arm of somebody to me-
and i want u to enjoy over there
go to the club
and sleep with woman
because… this is so much answer
u know…
and pain in my head
no drink today… but
i want, need drink
drunk feeling everytime
too slight headache
i’m just sad
this is stupid
just want to talk, i am sad
but this i can’t
because i need more detail…
so i am thinking
detail, detail, detail
i’m thinking my fault
so i am sad now
one question is so much answer…
you know
so i want no question
i am just understanding everything
i want to make a story…
just don’t want to make some story
do u know.>?
i want sleep
but
now 3:24am
i am just need hope
i am just want hope
u know…
no hope, no continuance life…
because i am so
dark my thinking….
one question is so much answer…
so i want no question
June 2010 Derek Wilson
We Get Old
•May 31, 2010 • 2 CommentsShe mentions that her hands don’t even work anymore
Like her fingers are made of hard plastic
Like it’s not such a big deal
Just the almost last item on a long list
Of things that have slowly stopped working
“Don’t make me cry.” she says
As I hold her trembling hands coated in dry skin
That used to take me from my mother’s arms
And brush the hair out of my eyes
Or hand me back my lost teddy bear
Or make me a glass of orange soda
And I can’t talk, I can only look back at her
Noticing there are some things that won’t make that list
Her tears, for one, still seem to be working just fine
May 2010 Derek Wilson
Graverobber
•May 27, 2010 • 1 CommentBones, bones, broken bones
He has bones and she has bones
How many bones do I have, hmm?
Let’s take back the fear
Demand a recount or
Return it for a refund
“Murderer! Murderer!” they cry
Well they can cry all they want
Cry to the wind
While we’ll be off scot-free
Dancing with our fancy bones
And all that stuff
That oozing, seeping, stenching stuff
That drips from your fingertips
Slicks back your hair
And glistens your lips
Bones, bones, bloody bones
They got theirs
I got mine
How many bones you got?
Hmm?
May 2010 Derek Wilson
Bushranger
•May 23, 2010 • Leave a CommentEyes don’t sparkle like they used to
Hands don’t tremble like they should
Pockets, now empty, shall soon be full
Don’t cry lovely, no tears, no bloodshed
Put your hands up
May 2010 Derek Wilson
Wordjacking
•May 18, 2010 • Leave a CommentFor the second time, my mate n8k99 has hijacked a lyric I’ve put up. I really like it, I feel he understood what I was trying to say and then created his own unique take on it. Check it out here:
You Are My One And Lonely – music
The original post is here:
Fireworks
•May 7, 2010 • Leave a CommentI do declare, I do despair
Of finding things more heft than the air
That beats against a ragged wing
Redirects a tattered tail
Causing outpourings of panicked prayer
On takeoff and flight and landing
That is to say, I do dismay
Of finding nights more sheen than the day
That envies sibling’s sparkling light
Dreaming of her glittered veil
And the fires of passion and play
That under her long shroud, ignite
So I impart, I do disheart
Of finding ends more soon than the start
That precedes every bow and bend
Every ripple of the trail
Every path, shortcut, map, piece and part
Of any sanct way I ascend
May 2010 Derek Wilson
is bored
•May 2, 2010 • Leave a CommentBored
You’re bored
You’re bored?
You have nothing to do?
You have nothing that interests you right now?
You are about to die and you are bored?
You have like, a minute left. Or a day
Perhaps a week
Or, or a hundred years
That’s barely a lifetime!
So you’re almost done and yet, none
That’s it, you don’t come back
Certainly not like this
That is it, you are gone
But now, this 1/3155695200th of your life
Nothing
Or this 1/31556952nd?
Still nothing
And it’s slipping, slipping, shearing
But what do you do?
What can you do?
All you can do is write stuff, like:
I’m bored, bored, bored
I’m Bored! I’m Bored!
I’m fucking bored!
Iam board! Eyem bord!
Aiem boored!
You write it pen or in pencil
In crayon or texta
On notepads and sketchpads
On large sheets of butcher’s paper
On smartphones, on dumbphones
On laptops and tabletops
And hilltops
You carve it in stone
And cover walls with it in paint
You get it tattooed on your wrist
And lasered on a grain of rice
You hand out business cards
That look like this:
You get it written into the constitution
And commissioned as a work of art
You jump into an aeroplane
And loop cloudy cursive letters
Across the clear blue sky
And the peoples of the whole earth
Look up in wonder and sigh
As you parachute down
Dropping pamphlets and brochures
That say it over and over
And you land in a strange forest
Or maybe a colosseum
And climb up the mountain
Or the stands
Or the ruins that you find
And collapse
And cry softly up at darkening sky
As your tears start to mingle with the
Warm evening storm
I’m so bored, I’m so bored
So bored
May 2010 Derek Wilson
You Are My One And Lonely
•April 27, 2010 • 1 CommentDo you see how we love? What it means, what it means
Do you see how we cry? Do you feel what we feel?
And does it matter? Do we matter? Does any of it matter?
So then, we love. I might love him, I might love her
I might love Rain, or June or Cha Cha, Jack or Isabel
And then we might go here or there, or to Wuhan, or to Jigalong
Maybe we like Heavy Metal or Jazz or listen to Opera at sunset
Perhaps we dance, clumsy, funny, drunk or not
Perhaps we sing, or fuck, or do stupid things like
Run through the plaza being chased by security guards
Because we thought we could climb inside the giant Christmas tree
Did we offend you with that? Did you even notice us?
Do you see how we weep? And sleep with each other
Make love and mess equally and desire each other
Or someone else frequently and need and need
When does it stop? But do you see? Do you see?
When you look up or around, do you know?
Is there here, significance? Is there here, tenor?
Do we sing with tune and relevance?
Or are we playing House or Snap or Monopoly
Or Risk or Chess or Catch & Kiss?
Do you like these games? Did you make them up?
And how do you see me? How do you see me?
Am I a pawn or a Queen? Am I your goal or a daydream?
Am I making a scene or fitting right in?
Am I bathing in righteousness or is righteousness a sin?
But what I really want to know is, do you like what I’m wearing?
And how about these two left shoes on my stinking feet
Stumbling and tripping down this lonely street?
April 2010 Derek Wilson
Sunrise Into LAX
•April 16, 2010 • Leave a CommentDream again, sleeping and waking
Walking once more off the wing
And falling, floating, down, down
Shortly past the fuselage and jet engine
And then nothing, nothing, nothing at all
But wind resistance and clouds and fear
But now she is leaning over, reaching
Gently shaking and speaking
With words I am slow to recognise
“Chicken or fish?”, “Coffee or tea?”
Was it all a bad dream?
But I smell like that fish and am wet
And having difficulty breathing
For all this water that sits in my lungs
At least, the seaweed is pretty
Pretty, pretty, slowly sinking passenger
For your own safety, please remain submerged
Until the Captain switches off your light
We hope you enjoyed your flight
April 2010 Derek Wilson
!#
•April 9, 2010 • Leave a Comment!# !#
… ; ; /
(:.) -
!/ !#
!# .?
“,’,”
.,,’!
“:;:”
?/ !#
-’,,,-
/:/, ///
. ; !#
April 2010 Derek Wilson
On Writing A Poem That Sounds Like This, Using Words Such As:
•April 3, 2010 • 2 CommentsGambit and armpit, swallow, hollow and insatiable
Or sachet, satchel, attaché, épée, or knee
Then perhaps, perhaps not, then knock, knew and knowledge
Even wrought, rort, cot, loose, potato, QWERTY, humanoids, layered and sum
Prune, pruned, prunes, patchwork, placebo, apportioned and facetious all could be used
Also also and and and hachigatsu and stop
And probably possibly, certainly never, definitely not and maybe E-Type
Followed by followed, flowed, fowl, fowled, fowler, follower and following, following
And following following, following, numb
Or words like fun and drain but together
Fundrain or mashed up, octuplettuce or qua
As in, words started but not finished
Demoliti, being another one of those
And then the next stanza could start with
And then the next stanza could start with
And have long words like embellishmentalism and elaboratation
And short words like short, words and like
And just bits of words, q, k, ff, eu or ‘
Even dispensing with words entirely for a while and
:
( )
And then, the final line would of course be something like
And then, the final line would of course be something like
April 2010 Derek Wilson
Re: Confession
•March 25, 2010 • Leave a CommentWell, sometimes I forget what country I’m in
And sometimes I can’t tell the difference between a crime and a sin
And then sometimes I forget what you were drinking
And sometimes I, sometimes I, what was I thinking?
I obsess. I obsession. I acquaint. I attrition. I acquiesce, I listen
I confess and depress and use words like “transgress”
Sometimes I even, well no, that would be cheating
So then I upset, I unbalance, I upend and undo.
I, undone.
One Zero Zero One One One One
One Zero Zero One Zero Zero Zero
Zero One Zero Zero Zero Zero One
March 2010 Derek Wilson
Sunrise Into SYD
•March 18, 2010 • Leave a CommentI want to complain again
I want to smash heads
And rattle cages
And say “fuck” a lot
I want to be meaner than I am
I want to slam faces
Into those rattled cages
And throw stuff on the ground
And puff myself up
And say “shit damn!”
“Mother fucker!”
I want to be beaten up
And just when they think I’m done
I want to bounce back
And smash someone!
I want to have some fucking fun!
I w a n t t o u n r a v e l….
I want to come undone
Like your Mum
I want to stamp my feet
And come across all mad and bad
And look wasted and smacky
And loose my head and my shit
Somewhere in The Cross
And be lost and be found
Punched up by pigs and bouncers
And be messed up, be tossed
Again to the ground
Ah! I want to be around
When they add up the cost
I want to be the one they blame
Lay it on me bro!
I want to cut my hair
And my arm and be cool
And I want you to look at me
Like you don’t understand me
Like I’ve stepped on
Or stepped over
Some line you hold dear
Some fear, some passion, some love
And like everything that you hate
Is tattooed right here on my face
I want to erase you and, and, and
Be erased by you or something
Or atoned, or something, I don’t know
I want to pick myself up
And put myself down
You, you fucking clown
You fucking clown
March 2010 Derek Wilson
Aeroport
•March 14, 2010 • Leave a CommentHere I am again, writing words on a phone, with a pen
Can’t read the screen anymore
Into the bin with the bottles of all those liquids that are not bombs
Those not fires and the not weapons
Take my shoes, take my ticket, take my time and my pulse
It beats, it beats unsteadily above the constant background noise yawn
Above the roaring arrivals and screaming departures it beats
Then there’s these heavy eyelids camped around sandy, sticky eyeballs
With faintly luminous, red rims – classic aeroplane attire
Squatting inside CatchyName! magazine
Fasten seat belt while seated, 安坐时请扣上安全帶
Waiting for them to call row numbers like auctioneers dressed in clown costume
27D. Excuse me, excuse me
Then up, up and far, far away
I could look down at the rapidly shrinking houses and streets and street lights
I might even recognise what part of what city I am passing over this time
But I’m writing this thing in my head and in danger of forgetting it
Or some of it and need to write it down
Can’t find my phone anywhere though
And then the engines are screaming so sweetly
Tolling the roaring song of the rolling sky
And the tempo is beating, but it beats so slowly
Enchanting, hypnotising, sleepy
It beats, it beats, so steady, as she goes
March 2010 Derek Wilson
Soapbox
•March 5, 2010 • Leave a CommentGetting up
Soapbox
Speaking the truth
Get back in line
Getting ripe
Shiraz
Bending the truth
The wisdom of wine
Standing up
Doc boots
Kicking out tunes
Stumbling on rhyme
Working late
Lager
Breakers and dunes
The whimsy of time
Oh no, oh no
Working up
Fever
Sweating the heat
Soaking in style
Packing up
Put down
Placing these feet
Mile after mile
Picking up
Shake down
Dancing and song
Getting it right
Going out
Dressed up
Getting it wrong
Goodnight, goodnight
March 2010 Derek Wilson
Lightning Bug
•February 25, 2010 • Leave a CommentIt’s hot here too
This unbearable south
She smiles and jokes
As the corners of her mouth
Turn like the weather
But I can’t take a hint
I’m struggling to breathe
And find it harder to think
Been drunk for weeks
And now the hangover hits
She looks like she has been crying
I’m way ahead of the beat
But she looks like she thinks I am lying
And my heart sinks
I can’t take a hint
Her eyes look at me
Like they’re trying to speak
And these eyes of mine
Try to mimic her rhyme
They pick up the tune
But the lyrics are wrong
In this drought of music
I’m irrigated with song
Trying to drown down
The noises of history
And then, there’s distraction
Like a sparklering shimmer
Crazed, heat-hazed flight paths
Of glimmering glitter
Glancing and fanciful
Dancing, distorted
Tracing mystic words
In a magical order
February 2010 Derek Wilson
Yellow Wings Beat
•February 18, 2010 • 2 CommentsI have here, two matchsticks
And the side of a box
And down there
Is a pile of failure
Dusted in sulphur
February 2010 Derek Wilson
She Only Appears In Overdrive
•February 11, 2010 • Leave a CommentWhat would Jesus do?
Would he play the blues?
Kicking jams with money changers
Upturned tables
Coins sprinkle down
I wonder, I’m confused
The voice of rage
Or the voice of ruin?
Her underwear begging
For a dollar or two
Looks like salvation
Is fighting back
With Jim and Jesus
And gentleman Jack
On an SM58
It’s all too late
It’s all too late mate
Go home and sleep
Your mothers worry
And Mary weeps
And Grandma sweeps
Like there’s nothing wrong
But you know
You know
You know what’s right
You know what’s not
And you know that nothing
Matches anymore
But she’s knocking at your door now
You force yourself to answer, somehow
She draws you out
Rolls the stone away
And says “Hey babe,
wanna peek?”
February 2010 Derek Wilson
Plastic
•February 3, 2010 • Leave a CommentIt get hot, it get hot
You are what you are
You not what you not
What this thing?
This plastic
This horrible
It plastic
You not it
Not this
You stop, you stop
It get plastic
Don’t want
Don’t want this
Not not
You not this
It get horrible
Please stop
What is this?
Don’t do this
Do not this
Please stop
Please stop
What it want?
What it not?
It get not what it want
It not stop, it not stop
It get hot, it get hot
You not what you are
You want what you not
February 2010 Derek Wilson
Fanfare
•January 28, 2010 • Leave a CommentRub your eyes and re-analyse
It’s too late to trade places
Wait, wait, but quickly
Though there is no time but the present
And no greater pleasure than inky skin
And bending string
Than your wandering
Than the mess that you’re in
Than this passion, this sin
So will the band now play?
A dirge, then a hymn
Then an air
Then the anthem
January 2010 Derek Wilson
Thoughts They Send To My Head
•January 21, 2010 • 4 CommentsIn a theatre, a play*
In an actor, a character
Talking about simple things
Common things
People walking down a street
Talking, kissing, arguing
Over common things
Visualise: street fairs, festivals
Grungy urban suburbs
Newtown, Surry Hills
I am there, momentarily
But still watching the actor
Impressions, dreams
Sights, sounds, smells
A curious, playful blend
Hot dogs and fairy floss
Beer and felafel
Face paint and cut grass
Tobacco, cooking and pot
People in hats
Out of focus rides
Laughing and colour
And confetti
Remember:
It is easy to forget
That life’s not just all about
The razzle-dazzle
January 2010 Derek Wilson
*Words They Make With Their Mouths by Tim Spencer
Three Minutes To Midnight
•January 14, 2010 • Leave a Comment22:59 I walk in off the slippery streets and the crowd turns to look me up and down and there’s a girl in my line throws up smoke in my face like a hooker and my space is feeling all cramped up and noisy and raced but it’s ok. It’s ok.
23:23 I’m on beer number two or three and feeling more comfortable and as the band plays a rumble she asks me to dance or at least a semblance, I say thanks, but no thanks, that’s not why I came here tonight. She says ok, that’s ok.
23:55 Some guy looks me in the eye like he knows me or someone who looks like me or knows me and starts talking like he’s in a dream, lips dance without sounds even when he shouts. It’s about this time I become thankful that I can lip-read.
23:56 I walk back onto glimmering streets looking for something to eat, not hungry, just scared and in need of some air and the rain feels good on my skin, cleansing, like some kind of late night, polluted baptism and I feel like I’m going to be ok.
23:57 If there’s one thing I remember it’s to keep repeating, over and over, over and over, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.
January 2010 Derek Wilson
Of Tragedy
•January 7, 2010 • Leave a CommentIt feels like I could write a whole movie from any day of my life
These characters I meet all suffice
Every nuance they possess is screen ready, life like
I could write endlessly about their ambitions and ability
And wax cliché lyrically about their agility and expressions
“You can’t go backwards,” she says as her eyebrows dance
Around the upwardly mobile steam reaching high
From the lip of her sweet black espresso
“you actually can’t go backwards.
There’s no such thing. It’s just forwards in reverse.”
She exhales
But then I can’t see where I’m going and I’m tired
I guess I am crashing now anyway
Not long left for me of this day
Wake up, what do you want me to say?
As if I could say to you what you want me to
As if I could know, read your flirty mind
It feels like the deal is already done
It feels like you’re leaving before you’ve even begun
Intention, convention, expectation
Feasting and libation
The buffer below means I can’t get drunk enough
Can’t get sunk enough
This stupid head is spinning now
And falling down, falling down
These deformed eyes are grazing you
This deformed heart is weeping and leaping too
Turn the radio on, there’s that song again
Pull the handbrake, mash reverse
Raise your hands up
Slow motion, of course
January 2010 Derek Wilson
If I Were A Girl
•November 14, 2009 • 2 CommentsI am the darkness to her light
She is the passion to my plight
She is my wind, she is my rain
I am her drought and her disdain
I am her doubt and mortal sin
She is the holy light within
She is an air, a halo bright
I am her plague and curse and blight
I am the anger to her joy
She is the female to my boy
She is perfume and she is soap
I am her cause of dying hope
I am the awesome contradict
She is the truth, she is perfect
She is the answer and the name
I am her spot, her stench, her stain
I am the vacuum to her breath
She is animating death
She is animal and woman
I am nothing, I am a man
November 2009 Derek Wilson
Avalokiteśvara
•November 6, 2009 • 2 CommentsAll these things in my hands
Look at all these things in my hands
I am seated, contemplated
With my many, many things
But then what matter are these things
And what matters but this moment?
So shall I part my fingers and turn my palms
And all these things shall slip and fall to the earth and shatter
And what do they matter?
They are but memories
Dust now scattered
Would I cry for their worthless fragments?
Should my eyes shed precious tears
For their broken bits now swept away?
But what if you then give yourself to me
And I want to receive you in these empty hands
And feel the sensation of your touch rippling
Through five thousand finger tips?
If I could take you, could I keep you in my hands
Making sure you don’t shatter
Or would they turn again and would you too slip though?
Would I break you?
And look, so many eyes
My many, many eyes
Would even one of them even cry?
November 2009 Derek Wilson
Medicate
•October 25, 2009 • 1 CommentMaking frames that have no contents
Framing claims without a context
Replacing reason with reflex
Substitute sub-standard subtext
Or
Faking fame that has no pretense
Making claims without a pretext
Substitute reason for reflex
Submitting/Sustaining sub-standard subtext
Taking aim without a target
Taming flames with (gilded argent)
Transforming into pathogen
(Tresspassing, a secret agent)
(Replacing the words in brackets)
No
Splintering fragments
Absorbed, distracted
Making fake names
For the glittering facets
October 2009 Derek Wilson
Sunset Into SFO
•July 6, 2009 • Leave a CommentBittersweet life lived
Tantalising tapestry
Wanders down
Corrupted streets
Under sweat-breaking sun
Through sweep-scorching
Wind tunnels
He askes for change
Scratches sores on his face
Sounding like that actor
From that movie
On that flight
What to give
But trinkets
Broken particles
Sub-fractions
Of hours of toil?
Toil? “Toil”.
But a smile?
Smile back
Leave instructions
“Have a good night”
And
“Take care”
“God bless you, man”
He brays
Sounding like that actor
From that movie
On that flight
July 2009 Derek Wilson
Sunset Into CLT
•July 6, 2009 • Leave a CommentShe will dance a drunken bit
You will folie, take a sit
She will tell for you her name
You will laugh quite much at it
You will laugh and say the same
You will say, but more tacit
She will speak but more a whit
She will leave you as you came
She will pirouette, exit
You will feel like a Ma/onet
In a slightly crooked frame
July 2009 Derek Wilson
Crystal by Delboy by Nathan
•June 17, 2009 • Leave a CommentA friend of mine on the other side of the world turned my poem into a song. It reminds me of many things from my life, but of most interest is that it eerily sounds like something that “she”, from the poem, would have liked to hear, and she would have been particularly impressed by the process that formed it. Unfortunately, she did swim away a while ago, but the fact that I reckon she’d like it, I think means that when we depart, we leave a bit behind. I feel a sense of peace that she is remembered and in some way has contributed to an artistic collaboration.
You can hear the song here at:
Crystal
•June 11, 2009 • 2 CommentsShe stood on the sand
On the edge of a great ocean
And wondered, if she floated or swam
Would it carry her away
And find for her a place she could believe in
And breathe in, a sacred land?
As her tears hit the grains pulverised
That hold the memory of billions of lives
And silently make no judgement
Content to let us pass by
A fleeting blink in their gritty eye
2005 Derek Wilson
Rattle
•May 22, 2009 • 2 CommentsAs I go to sleep tonight
My thoughts dance wild
And I rattle off cliché
Sleep on it
Sleep on it
But my brain
Likes the rattle dance
So I tell myself
Dream on it
Dream on it
And it almost works
I will toss and turn
But I have to say
Do dream, though
Dream it big
Dream on big
May 2009 Derek Wilson
This Day To Die
•May 12, 2009 • 1 CommentIt would seem to be
A most ludicrous thing
To die in spring
To die while singing
The theme to a
Romantic comedy film
As your hand is pressed
Firmly close to her breast
And her strong musky scent
Rides the heat of her fume
To jam up each lung
And explode the space
Between her beauty
And you
May 2009 Derek Wilson
I Fell Down
•April 10, 2009 • Leave a CommentHiding my head in the sand
Slamming my fist into the palm of my hand
Bouncing off walls and floors
Opening windows and slamming doors
Running, yelling all the night long
Pulling in noise, calling it song
Fallen from heaven to earth
Suspended between my death and my birth
2004 Derek Wilson
She Never Showed Up
•April 8, 2009 • 1 CommentI was meant to meet up with a friend today to teach her Garage Band but she didn’t make it (with good reason). Having mainly used Digital Performer for work and Logic Studio for myself, I decided that I may as well create a track to reacquaint myself with GB.
I haven’t done much music writing lately, typically I’ll come up with a guitar riff and then get distracted, or drunk, or both… My aim for this week was to ‘complete’ one track. It didn’t have to be great, or necessarily finished, but something I could play and it sound complete. I was thinking I would do one of my already written songs but this piece just came out of nowhere and somewhat surprised me. It’s not a style I’ve worked in before. The fact that I used sampled beats heavily affected the rest. It’s a bit bgm, sort of a chill lounge vibe. A thursday night track to talk over while your body feels it. You can have a listen below.
So I’ve got my toes wet again finally and had fun doing it. Now I need to go for a swim…
The Desert Revisited Part II
•April 7, 2009 • Leave a CommentThe guitarist asked me if
I know about things (THINGS)
I told him I used to
But not anymore and
Certainly not here…
Some other guy came up
And asked if I was a journalist
I guess, because I was writing
I told him no, I write poetry
He came back later and told me
That he is a journalist
And could interview me
But would need to read my poems
To this day, I’m not sure why
But I told him
Untruthfully
That my writing was not for
Public consumption
And he nodded and left
Reluctantly?
August 2008 Derek Wilson
The Desert Revisited part I
•April 7, 2009 • Leave a CommentThe guitarist hugs me and pats my back gently
The guy with the bug eyes smiles his warm yet creepy grin
My drink keeps being replenished long before I need it
Nirvana is being played… again
I haven’t seen many guys around here with long hair
Except for musicians
People shake hands with really flaccid grips
Man and woman alike
I can see a French horn and a banjo nearby
Under UV light and those glow in the dark
Stars and planets and satellites
Those chords aren’t quite right
And let’s not mention the shirt
Do I have enough money?
I’m worried about my grammar and how many more times
In my life I’ll have to hear ‘Sweet Home Alabama’
Does the physics of snow shoes apply to sand?
Why, whether I eat a lot, or just one small meal a day
Does my energy level not really change?
Most people dance quite badly
I’ll throw my own hand up there
But having listened to dancers for most of my life
I’m sometimes surprised by how much I know
And how much I care
Am I being unfair?
I’m missing my friends
Looking forward to sweating my way hotel in the heat
Looking forward to those crisp white sheets
What the hell is this on my shoe?
How can someone drop Stevie Wonder’s name
But not know ‘Hotter Than July’?
Was Carmen Sandiego a girl or a guy?
I wonder if I’m as trivial as most things seem?
Dum-dee-dum, dum-doo-dee
Places to meet, people to be
July 2008 Derek Wilson
A Parliament Of Owls
•April 6, 2009 • 1 CommentTrust in me, like a Church
I provide sanctuary
Apothecary mix
Frankincense and
Dirty kneeling cushions with
Stone buttresses and
Wooden crosses
And dusty prayer book scents
So, warm under my wing
Take the food that I bring
As I sing of my father
And you gaze on him
But twist your sight
One eighty degrees
And cast your
Piercing eyes to me
March 2009 Derek Wilson
Hollow Bones
•April 6, 2009 • 2 CommentsThis boy got bug-eyed
And sometimes he misunderstand
And when he go and stretch his wing
He’s breaking things and raised his hand
Like it were the Moses man
Full of God, full of plan
Stop, eyes pop and stumbles down
Grazed gaze tears tears
Who does what it find in here?
What is it want?
This boy got mono-browed
Stereo soft and mono loud
And sometime he take controls
Steering steady to
That path he do not know
And when he go and show his strength
They breaking him
And raised his hand
Like he is the preacher man
Born again, but now and then
February 2009 Derek Wilson
Act III
•April 6, 2009 • Leave a CommentHow does this happen, this fiction, this fashion
This whimsical fantasy?
Fade out and cash in
Condescend to attend this chardonnay soiree
This saturday matinée
Please be advised that for this afternoon’s performance
The role of God will be played be The Devil
So put on your halo
Just talk slow and lay low
And linger in shadow and false rolling fog
And flicker and falter and alternate quickly
With those in the wings
And then, make your hand sleight
Raise up to full height
Lay down a smoke screen
And see if you don’t
Steal the scene
January 2009 Derek Wilson
She dressed blackly
•April 5, 2009 • 4 CommentsAnd took a fancy to the underside of river crossings
And southern-facing balconies
And she sung songs in slow motion
Lyrics from the Eighties
To Seattle-rock melodies
And sometimes stuff like, you know
Eagle Eye Cherry to Bob Marley
And of course, the obligatory
Tomorrow, Wendy
She freaks, she pauses
Mr. Eyebrow-Ring-Bandana-On-Wrist
Sings some sort of Save Tonight
What did she just write?
She didn’t write a thing
And nervously twists
Her (dual concentric)?
Stainless steel ring
I used to be a little girl
Smiles irony, she hopes
It’s a tough gig tonight
And she’s stretched for definition
But full of ammunition
Did she mean ambition?
Yet, pulling on a tartan skirt
And wondering if they’ve realised
That she’s wandered down to the riverside
And kind of, dematerialised
January 2009 Derek Wilson
Loop
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentThis is insomnia
This is the waking dead
This is sleepwalking
The alcohol talking
This is realised dread
This is depths unfathomed
But, hey, Nirvana never mind
This is relent, accept
Acquiesce and unwind
This is dreams dissipated
Schemes corrupted, unweighted
This is rock and roll
Anti-inflammatory coup
This is guitars debasing
And nuclear inflation
This is atomic, ironic
Iconic and idiotic
This is falsified records
And Honda Accords
This is buses home
And mobile phones
This is workers, or drones
This is an unanswered question
All the things left unsaid
This is the song that you can’t stand
Getting stuck in your head
June 2006 Derek Wilson
Conversation With A Stranger
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentThis conversation’s getting stranger
I came here feeling fragile, fractured
We talked about targets and tactics
Melted visions and dreams that have shattered
Like windscreens during an urban riot
But now, you can’t stop yourself from talking
And I can’t stop myself from keeping quiet
February 2006 Derek Wilson
Lifeline
•April 5, 2009 • 2 CommentsThrow him a rope from the side of your boat
Throw as hard as you can
And aim for the drowning man
In the centre of the whirlpool
And hope that he knows how to swim
And his skill or will, will keep him afloat
While you’re casting it in
And pray that he has the presence of mind
To grab hold of your line, and then reel him in
Give him water and wine and warmth and a fire
A soft bed to retire his sodden head
And peaceful dreams to help him sleep
Hold him when he weeps
And tell him everything will be all right
And tomorrow, when he wakes
This will all seem
Like nothing more than a bad dream
December 2006 Derek Wilson
Conversation With A Cockroach
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentI’m trying to have a conversation with a cockroach
And intermittently punching myself in the head
Because my reflection in the bathroom mirror
Won’t respond unless I say something
But the cockroach appears independent
I tell him to stop moving his right antenna
And just wiggle his left one if he understands
But they both keep moving
I don’t think he understands
But he pauses when I speak
Maybe it’s just the wind of my breath
And I feel remorseful for the many deaths
Of his brothers and sisters that I have caused
They meant no harm, they just do
Whatever it is cockroaches do
Yet I impose my own restrictions
And regulations and justifications
And I wonder why these poor maligned bastards
Don’t just rise up and take control
They’ve gotta have the numbers
And possibly intelligence in abundance
Continually confounding our best attempts
To wipe them out, to take control
And you’re all worried about Islam
And Jihadist suicide bombers
And fiscal fluctuations and leaders with less than a promise
And taxes and death and Shakespeare and Socrates
“But I’ll tell you what!”
He finally relents and drops his guise, much to my surprise
“You’re all worried about Armageddon come
Fool, it’s now with the insect, not yet with the gun”
October 2008 Derek Wilson
Mirror Mirror
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentWhat changes ring these bells of time?
What creatures crawl through this dark mire?
What day is this and why do I reflect in my heart, face, the sky?
What future reckons, judged by my past?
Heart, it beckons, beating too fast,
Could I, with sole force of will, then halt this fleeting surge of time?
Slow this heartbeat, still the earth that shifts beneath my aching feet?
At least, at least if nothing else, I’ll take this day’s reflection,
And with little guile I’ll bend its truth,
And where were tears, you’ll see a smile.
December 2004 Derek Wilson
Black Cloud
•April 5, 2009 • 2 CommentsHe opened the window
And stepped out
Lit a cigarette
And looked around
Breathing deeply
And marking time
Gazing five floors
Down to the ground
Descent of the cloud
Here it comes
Here it comes
Like a home run
Like a blood hound
October 2004 Derek Wilson
She Wants To Dance
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentShe wants to dance
She wants to hold hands
She wants you to kiss her
Softly goodnight
And prays you won’t ask
To sleep with her tonight
She wants to date you
Wants to love and hate you
She wants to get to know you
She has so much to show you
She wants to feel
Like your high school girlfriend
She wishes she could stop
Pretending
She wishes you would put
Your arms around her again
And it would be enough
To complete her
Her feet don’t touch the ground
Your voice is her only sound
She gently takes a rib
That used to surround
Your broken heart
And like a modern day Eve
In a Devil’s Eden
If you give her your breath
She’ll take that and the rest
And become all she can
Be one with you
Be woman
July 2006 Derek Wilson
I Raised My Hands Up
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentI raised my hands up
And laid down my weapons
I three wise monkey’d
And paid no attention
I took the trash in
And threw out the lesson
I walked so softly
I made no impression
I cut the volume
And faded the lighting
I lit the torches
And raided, igniting
I took the needle
And drew out the blighting
I walked in warpaths
I waded in fighting
I fixed the numbers
And rorted the ledgers
I campaign promised
And courted the pledgers
I took the solo
And blew up the wedges
I walked the mazes
I ran through the hedges
I dredged the bottom
And caught things discarded
I laughing Buddha’d
And wandered unguarded
I took the setbacks
And grew up retarded
I walked a fine line
I wound up red-carded
September 2008 Derek Wilson
Ningyo 人魚
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentAnd then, we were there
And you’d done something different with your hair
And then, you drew my eyes again
And I was like, orbital
But losing my spin
And you were like a siren
To a sailor, giving in
And then, you were taking pictures
And I was, well, in stitches
And noticing reverberance
With sibilance and clapping
And then, of course you were dancing
And tapping on my shoulder
And I was soon forgetting
The plotted course and setting
And then, we said a lot of things
I wish we didn’t mean
And you were so soon leaving
And I didn’t mean them anymore
And this heart has stood such beatings
But again this heart was sore
And then, well, I don’t know the end
But I was sitting alone again
And watching distant mermaids
From the incognita shore
September 2008 Derek Wilson
Ningyo 人魚
Kenji-san
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentI had just arrived in Tokyo after spending an amazing yet busy week in Osaka and was looking forward to a few days off before our shows at the Tokyo Forum. I checked into my hotel, unpacked my bag and then wandered into the shopping and eating district of Akasaka. Akasaka is a largely untouristed area itself, but quite close to the Imperial Palace, The National Theatre and other such imposing sights.
Leaving hotel with a group from our company, I needed to return hotel briefly and said I would text someone to find out where they were eating. (Digression: I’ve been thinking lately that if you can correctly say things like “I walked home” instead of “I walked to my home”, then shouldn’t you also be able to say “I walked hotel”? I’m trying it out here, but it does feel a little awkward…) That someone forgot their phone and I was wandering around without a response when I came across a little English styled pub I remembered visiting last year.
I ordered a Kirin Ichiban – marveling, not for the first time, on how good Japanese beer is and how similar to Australian beer it is, which is probably why I think it’s so good in the first place. There was a picnic table style seat outside and I placed myself in the warm, sultry, extended-summer afternoon, writing a poem, sipping beer and watching Tokyonians wander by.
A middle aged man in dark blue slacks, light blue business shirt and a dark blue cap with an embroidered Koi on it soon walked in, got a beer and came to sit outside too. As he was about to pass me, he stopped and inquired where I was from. He then welcomed me to Tokyo and hoped I had a pleasant stay. Noticing my beer was somewhat low, he asked if I would like another. I was happily drinking quite slowly and so declined, but I believe he was ready to buy a complete stranger a drink, just to welcome them to his city.
As he finished his beer he came and sat opposite me and asked me my name and how long I was staying in Japan. He then again wished me a pleasant stay in Tokyo, expressed how nice it was to meet me – several times, then returned his glass to the bar and wandered off down the road, pausing once, to turn around and wave goodbye.
September 2008 Derek Wilson
Apparition
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentStare at the smoke curling
Around invisible, oddly shaped objects
Suspended in space like children’s’ toys
Tossed up into the air
And frozen as if in a photograph
As it rises from a resting hand close by
Stare at the dwindling supply of liquid
As it slow-dances with neglected cubes of ice
Lethargically jostling for position
To take the first place in the last sip from this glass
Both forgetting, that if left long enough,
They will eventually become one
Stare at the speakers dangling dangerously
From carelessly hung brackets
Attached to careless walls reflecting
The emitted sounds of last month’s
Song of the moment
Ah, it’s all just noise
Stare at the speakers of: what happened at work today?
What is she wearing?
Would you like another drink?
Do you know who she is?
Who does he think he is?
What was I thinking?
It’s worse than the music
Stare long enough and even those tears that rarely flow
And must be reserved in abundance, dry up
Lids scratch gently at unfocussed eyeballs
Tracing their way across
This may as well be empty room
Stare at that still beating heart
Residing somewhere outside of the chest
Seeing all the way things were meant to be
And not understanding
The patterns and shapes the fleeing blood makes
As it spills on the floor
Stare at the door and the windows
Through which escape seems possible
Beyond which, flight seems credible
Light shines indelible
And amiable futures are ambling by
Awaiting a chance encounter
With a willing, talkative stranger
Stare at the faces of these few known friends
Whose features are now etched with subtle lines
That are surely, if slowly, growing deeper
Marks and signs that are inescapably connected
To shared experience
Burdens borne across several shoulders
Across joined inhabitation of time
Stare at the flowers and the rodents
The careful graffiti and the homeless in dirty blankets
The vodka in plastic bottles and the fantastic moon
Peeping through sandstone, bounced off steel bridges
Expensive boats and the ever-compelling ocean
Stare and stare and stare and see
In place of despair, endless possibilities
And laugh and feel and heal in pieces
Love in stitches, live like characters in
Bizarre, tragic, touching moving pictures
Stare again at smoke and hand and face and glass
And heart and future and music and past
Seeing all the ways that things may be
Eyes learning focus, to witness, not stare
As apparitions arise from air
Becoming angels solidly
July 2008 Derek Wilson
Sandstorm
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentPeace descends with the setting sun
Traveling faster as darkness comes
Traveling light and tricking time
Now yet, she takes the bard’s sturdy advice
While being my ethic and avarice
She trips away with a bright sparkled eye
And it’s only this heart that makes its stay
Between its unsatisfactory, anyway, beats
Gazing, soft focused, self conscious, atrocious
At bruised, self centred and dusty feet
But she says it’s alright
Says it again
Kisses me goodnight
And then?
September 2008 Derek Wilson
Independence Day
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentI should get a blood test
I should get some more rest
I’d be worth my weight in gold
If I was made of oil
I’d tap into these blackened veins
And hit the auctions
Sold! Your number Sir?
Light and sweet and crude I can do
I’d be a real bargain
With an increase in production
And a fondness for combustion
I should get my head read
I should probably stay in bed
I’d be smart like Stephen King
If I was made of science
Or is that Stephen Hawking?
I’d write a book
New York Times bestseller
Entertainment equals media times celebrity squares
I’d pimp out the formula
For a few million clam shells
After all, it’s sex that sells
I should get one more beer
I should get out of here
I’d be as strong as Ghandi
If I was made of peace
I’d be orange and white and green
With a circular pattern in between
All good things come
To those who don’t hate
I’d petition myself for a brand new state
Partition myself then send those pieces
Off to celebrate
August 2008 Derek Wilson
Teardrop
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentConstruction workers
Heads wrapped in dirty rags
Squat on dusty concrete
Barricades that centre
The highways
Waiting, breaking, under the
Increasingly persistent sun
For a small break
In the seemingly ceaseless
Traffic flow
Stoic and diligent
Building a world
They will eventually be
Excluded from upon completion
Which doesn’t look like
It’ll happen anytime soon
Which is in a way good for them
And their families
Back home on the
Lonely receiving end of all this
Tormented toil
From beneath their light
Loosely fitted, soiled clothes
They glare at men
Entering air-conditioned offices
With fridges and water coolers
Inexplicably decked out in
Garish ties and smart
Dark woollen suits
While they may understand
Why their employers
Neighbours and countrymen
Now converse in
The language of a
Small, cold European nation
I’m sure they don’t understand
The fascination
With the fashion
There’s yet another traffic jam ahead
Possibly caused by still more
Construction workers
But it allows these ones to
Weave through these small
Portable weather systems
All set to arctic gale
Keeping the inhabitants
Suitably frozen
And they’re back to the night and day
Pneumatic, hydraulic, nightmare
Accompanied now and then by this
Stubbornly unhelpful breeze
One guy pauses as he
Crosses a few feet away
And stares into this false frost
With eyes that look colder
Than any day he’s ever known
But it’s a look I know
Can be turned in seconds by a
Smile and a nod of recognition
Into a joyful, humble, hello
His face is strained and streaked and wet
And, I don’t know, is he crying?
Or is it just sweat?
August 2008 Derek Wilson
Outcast
•April 5, 2009 • Leave a CommentLook at this skin
Check out its setting
Notice how it contrasts
Watch as it’s shedding
Speak a few words
Note their low worth
Measure how they affect
Guess if they’re working
Live out an ideal
Examine if it’s real
Reverse the polar longing
Seek out a reckoning
Trial a new style
Trace down its trail
Mark all that prevails
Pretend you’re not pretending
August 2008 Derek Wilson
Broadcast
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentThis one likes a quiet place
To close his eyes and pray
To plead and to praise
And send thoughts from
Deep within the soul
To a place of belief
And faith
This one likes confession
Selfishness, then submission
To be led and told
Just what he must say
To preserve his soul
And keep eternal judgement
At bay
This one likes to reflect
Look in the mirror there
Gaze at the inner self
Find a new meaning
Behind the eyes, a soul
A universe and more
And all
This one likes to be watched
And wonders how we ever survived
Before YouTube and blog
Voyeurs and video response
The connected soul
In a world detached
And alone
This one likes to scream
At the sun and the moon
And anyone who wanders by
Wanting recognition
There really is a soul
And if the volume’s right
You’ll know
This one likes to immerse
In confusion and noise
Frantic images, flashing lights
A frenetic, pulsing beat
A frenzied, fractured soul
Fantasising disorientation
As peace
This one likes to take stock
To sit back and observe
To notice and so evolve
Yet rarely be involved
Hoping that the soul
By learned association
Will grow
This one likes his pen to speak
Organising into category
Wayward ideas with
Tight little letters, syllables
That represent his soul
In an abstract, or essay
Or verse
August 2008 Derek Wilson
Overcast
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentThis conscience is crawling
Across pale freckled skin
And this is a scream
Revolution aloud
Like four hundred
Thousand kilos, winged
Ripping apart
The top of a cloud
This habit is forming
Like the clouds rolling in
And this is defeat
All hands up and heads bowed
So how the hell
Do you work this thing?
Hanging on to
The top of a cloud
This patience is thinning
Like a body diseased
And this is a face
Hidden under a shroud
Swearing an oath
Swearing like lightning
Raining down from
The top of a cloud
This melody’s fleeing
All the harmony drowned
And this is the song
Overcome by the crowd
So how the hell
Do you learn to sing
Hanging on to
The top of a cloud?
July 2008 Derek Wilson
Forecast
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentWhiplash car crash
Sit in a state
Of constant awe
Devouring ideas
Like they were beers
On a summer Saturday night
Hurricane Cocaine
Squeezed in a box
The size of an ox
Shattering walls
Like they were glass
Installed in a soprano’s dressing room
Umbrella of terror
Walk to the edge
Of the raging storm
Gathering hail
Like it is manna
Materialising in a minefield
July 2008 Derek Wilson
Tick
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentI can still feel the rush of you
On my skin
Still smell and taste the disbelief
That I’ve been swimming in
Do you wash yourself and
Cleanse your head
Of the same strange things?
Or do you take it in?
Do you feel sometimes
Like the sky is falling
In some sort of fashion
It’s all caving in?
Or do you recognise in me
The same kind of mania
I see as I watch you
Climbing the walls?
And when you see him too
Just like you, ascending
What do you do?
Do you let him fall?
I can still feel the fear of you
On my lips
Still bouncing back from
Where you pressed your
Glittered fingertips
Do you also
Stare into the dawn
Like it’s the apocalypse
Swinging your golden hips?
Should I be acting like this
While I’m thinking that way?
Always courting the night
While seducing the day
And dancing with the twilight
Stepping between the rays
Of the sunlight’s dying gaze
June 2008 Derek Wilson
Day Off
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentTurn off the television
It has nothing new to say
Disconnect the Internet
After closing every page
Unplug the telephone cable
Over there at the wall
Put the Do Not Disturb sign
On the handle of the door
Power down the laptop
Letting tired eyes adjust
Switch off the air-conditioning
And feel the settling dust
Place the half-read history book
On the table in the hall
Even disable the fridge
By separation from its power source
Let the cell phone battery die
Extinguish every light
Open up the window
To the dry and baking night
Let the music enter in
Cacophony of sound
Inhale unfamiliar scents
Slow the breathing down
Let the iris plot its course
Lens focus, pupil grow
Altered by the city’s warm
Sepia and neon glow
Leave the camera shutter closed
No online/offline friend will see
This moment chosen only for
This solitary memory
July 2008 Derek Wilson
Fell From The Sky
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentCrescent moon carved clean and crisp by sword and scimitar
Century after century watching desert sun set
Over Mosque and Temple, Synagogue and Cathedral
Handshake and embrace and blood red heartbreak
Prophet, nomad, sage and fool, Bedouin in dusty tent
Careless crashing young man in rarely sparkling Mercedes Benz
Lady of convenience, Gentleman of wealth
Oud and kohl, spice and gold, designer clothed
Adorn beauty and enhance it unseen under loose black robe
Violin, dulcimer, tanpura and slowly beaten drum
Down sandy street rings wedding bell and call to prayer
The crying mourner come to beat fist and head against ancient wall
To wait, to watch; to wit: to witness, to observe and spectate
A crowd of one, one eye on the moon, one eye on the sun
July 2008 Derek Wilson
Bluebell With A Broken Heart
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentAll my friends have bleeding palms
They raise them against
The claustrophobing windows
Of their bedrooms and kitchens
When they think no one’s looking
Making strange stained glass
Swirling patterns
Abstract designs
And the names of people
They should be forgetting
Because all my friends have
Broken hearts
They stitch them together
With threads of religion
And philosophy and
Self-determined
Well-intentioned
Psychology
Making arrhythmic beats
Ill-conceived flow
Ill-conceived pathways
That force surging cells down
Through bruised arms and
Chaffed wrists
Towards their upturned
Hands dug too deep by
Ragged fingernails
Someone whispers with
The quiet authority of rage
All this is surely a sign of our times
But I’m inclined to think it’s just
A sign of my age
June 2008 Derek Wilson
Choose your own adventure
•April 4, 2009 • Leave a CommentSometimes in my travels, when I’m going to, am in, or have already been to a place where friends have already been, I receive (very well meaning) exhortations to “go see this” or “go look at that”, as do most people when they are traveling. I’m quite guilty of this myself. Even the other day I was telling someone what to do when she goes to China later this year.
I also find that when I revisit a place, I often try to seek out a similar experience to my previous one – particularly if that experience was great.
I’m not sure how other people find it, but I find that, while sometimes the friends give handy advice, generally I’m left disappointed or underwhelmed. Obviously they had a great time here. Why shouldn’t I? The ‘repeat performance’ attempts are usually even worse (as anyone I dragged around Singapore to long closed entertainment districts could attest to…).
What I’m learning the more I travel, is how important it is to let your own head and heart lead the way. Advice is a good thing, it can start you off in the right direction and lead to some great times, but if it’s not working, it’s good to be able to tell yourself that maybe your experience is going to be a different one, and move on.
I have had some of the most amazing times of my life when I’ve struck out by myself, followed no plans and got a little lost – sometimes physically, often mentally. These are the times I’ve also forged friendships that, while they aren’t necessarily my best friends, they are nevertheless lifelong friends who I stay in touch with and always seek out when I return. My friend Paul Welch said of these types of friends “I will always keep a seat for them at the table round my heart”. I like that.
So now I don’t worry so much if I haven’t experienced what everyone else has. I’m trying to approach each new chapter of my life as something I’m writing, not something I’m reading.
May 2008 Derek Wilson
Notes on Burial Ground
•April 3, 2009 • Leave a CommentIn October 2004, I was in New York for my brother’s wedding. We were driving from his place in Brooklyn Heights, to Connecticut for, I want to say, a costume fitting, but no, it would have been a suit fitting.
Somewhere in Manhattan, I think on the Upper West Side, but I’m not sure now, I saw a battered old sign that simply said ‘Burial Ground’. My brain immediately went into overdrive with images of North American Indian scenes and landscapes and I wanted to start writing. Not having a pen or paper handy – somewhat unusual for me – I started writing words as a text into my phone.
It was a stream of consciousness event, I just wrote as the words appeared and the more I wrote, the more the style, form and content seemed to be directed by what I was writing – perhaps a stream of unconsciousness?
I realised pretty quickly that what I was writing had nothing to do with North American Indians, or the American West at all, but far more reflected my images of England, which I had visited around 10 years earlier. The style too, was heavily reflective of some British and Irish writers I’ve studied.
It turned backwards on itself though, when I sat down later with several verses of an incomplete tale, to realise I could clearly hear Poe’s influence above all others in the imagery, word choice, arrangement and rhyme structures even though the meter was loose and inconsistent. I also noted that a few words were not ‘legitimate’ words, but kept them in, as they fit their intended meaning exactly and are easily decipherable. It’s fitting that Poe came from Boston and at times worked in New York and all over the New England and surrounding areas. Back in 2006, I drove up to Vermont with my brother and his wife and got to see some of the stunning scenery that inspired the New England mantle. It was a particularly beautiful time in the region – ‘Fall’, just as the leaves were falling. Travellers from all over the world come to New England each year to see this spectacular happening.
Given the convoluted intersections of past and present experiences, I decided to continue writing and editing in this style. I’ve kept taking it out, looking at it, trying to write more lines, rearranging, etc… ever since. Recently I made some larger leaps in writing to come very close to feeling like it was complete, but couldn’t quite get there. Then I realised that I would be back here in few days, with lots of time on my hands and lots of inspiration…
I woke up the other morning listening to my sister-in-law practice Mozart on the piano in the living room, stepped out onto the fire escape and into a warm and fresh spring morning to see that the trees in Owl’s Head Park, that tower over the Narniaesque lamp posts and playful squirrels, were just starting to bud. Mothers were pushing their kids in strollers, people were playing with their dogs or sitting on blankets reading newspapers and books – I imagined Joyce or Wilde, E.M.Forster or Murakami. Perhaps someone was even reading “The Fall of the House of Usher” (probably not…) as a few Hassidim with their blacks coats, hats and ringlets ambled by? I was having a Merchant-Ivory moment…
My sister-in-law would later remark that the weather reminded her of England in the Spring, where she grew up. I’m intrigued by these loosely tangled connections of England and New England, with my own experiences and perceptions. Recently I was also in Amsterdam, now I’m back in ‘New Amsterdam’ reminded of the underlying influences that join these two famous cities, as I witnessed when I was there.
The surface story of Burial Ground is ridiculously simple: there’s a cemetery on a hill, someone walks up, clears a grave and leaves flowers on it, then walks away. I’ve attempted to use equally simple language to explore far more complex ideas below. Questions that, in other contexts, I find myself asking often. Seeking answers that may take a lifetime to unearth. Or maybe I’ll find them tomorrow…
Derek Wilson
Owl’s Head Court, The Narrows
Brooklyn, Kings County, NY
Spring 2008
Somewhere in The Narrows
Owl's Head Park
